


Everyone's Angel

by Rednaelo



Series: Starspark [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate is a very important little bot.  And everyone wants him to know it.  A collection of oneshots featuring Tailgate interacting with essentially everybody on board the Lost Light and maybe even some bots who aren't! Plotless fluff and eventual porn featuring a variety of pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Cyclonus

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for my babygirl, who adores the precious minibot and just wants him to be loved. The prompt is essentially all the crew members loving Tailgate in their own special ways. There will be no set limit to this fic because at the moment, there isn't really a plot at all. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Oh, also, this is unbeta'd so I can't guarantee it's that fantastic. I am currently looking for a dedicated beta reader, so if you're interested, [please read this over!](http://rednaelo.tumblr.com/post/96489277141) Thank you!!
> 
> -Bec

Swerve’s denta pressed hard down on his bottom lip, one hand extended hesitantly as he considered the consequences of following through with what he’d first thought was a good idea.  Not two seats away, Skids eyed him over the rim of his glass of engex, swallowing down one more mouthful as his friend remained stagnant in his indecision.

“Maybe you should just let him keep it,” Skids suggested, his voice a few decibels lower than what it was just a few kliks ago. 

“I don’t want him to break it on accident,” Swerve said.  “He might drop it at some point.  What if it hurts him? Or wakes him up?”

Tailgate let out a sleepy murmur and tugged his empty glass closer in the fold of his arms on the bartop, nuzzling off a bit of condensation onto his faceplate.

“Aw, Pits,” Swerve cursed in a whisper, his servo dropping as he gave up on the prospect of getting that glass back.  The bar was still abuzz with late night conversation and company, though apparently it wasn’t loud enough to deter the white and blue minibot from slipping into recharge right there on his stool.  He’d been enthusiastically chattering over his drink not even half a cycle ago and through some lull in the conversation he’d had with Swerve, Tailgate had managed to tuck his faceplate into the crook of his elbow and doze. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re getting that back,” Skids said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Aw, no, buddy, c’mon now,” Swerve said, leaning over the counter a little.  His digits skittered just at the boundary of contact over Tailgate’s arm, his helm, internal debate staying his hand.  Eventually he laid his servo against Tailgate’s forearm and shook gently.  “Hey, if you’re sleepy, go back to your habsuite, yeah?” Swerve coaxed. “Tailgate?”

There was a softly static hum as the minibot turned his helm in the cradle of his arms, blue visor glinting dimly at Swerve.

“Mnnh…take me home,” Tailgate mumbled.  His visor blinked weakly again and his forehelm nuzzled at Swerve’s gentle touch before a soft ex-vent washed out of him.  Skids covered his mouth to keep his laughter from being too loud as Swerve stood there, welded to the spot, mouth agape.

“You heard the bot,” Skids said, tipping his glass towards Tailgate, “he wants you to put him to berth.”

“Like I could,” Swerve said, frowning after regaining his wits.  His digits stroked against Tailgate’s helm, spark fluttering gently as the little bot hummed at the little caress.  “Sure, I might be able to carry him, but how comfortable would that be?  Not much, that’s how.  And…and then, if I took him somewhere, I couldn’t just leave him by himself; it’d feel wrong.  And I gotta be here! I got customers to look after.”

“You want to, though.”

Swerve tore his optics away from Tailgate to look at Skids.

“You want to take him and look after him,” Skids clarified.  To that, Swerve gave a gentle scoff and went back to fondly scritching Tailgate’s helm.

“You find me someone on this ship who doesn’t want to do that and your tab is on me, forever.”

Skids’ optic ridges quirked for a moment and he glanced offside in consideration before a shrug lifted his shoulders.

“Point taken,” he said, and took another drink.  “Kid’s like something they sing about in old lullabies.”

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Swerve said, his tentative touches changing into full-handed pets as he rested his chin in his hand.  “He’s just special.”

“Mmhmm.”

There was a moment of peace as the two friends just gazed down at Tailgate and Swerve’s hand stroking slowly against his pretty white helm.  Trading thoughts in silence but letting a sort of peace resonate in that small space there at the bar.  It was quietly intruded upon by a distinctive shadow that darkened the minibot’s frame. 

Swerve’s touch stilled and he looked up at Cyclonus, who had come to a stop directly behind Tailgate.  No words needed to be said; those piercing red eyes spoke loudly enough. Swerve’s shoulders sagged, his hand withdrawing with one last graze against the white derma.  Cyclonus turned his focus towards Tailgate, claws reaching out to carefully unfold tiny white fingertips from around the glass he clutched.  The purple mech bent forward and drew the minibot gently into his arms.  There was a bit of maneuvering, mumbled words  babbled into  Cyclonus’ neck cables before he had Tailgate’s arms wrapped around his neck, legs hooked over his hips while his arms supported the little bot.

“…take care of him,” Swerve managed quietly as Cyclonus turned to go.  The swordsmech stopped and turned his face towards the bartender.  Ever so slightly, he inclined his helm.  A nod, a bow in gratitude….  Either way, it surprised Swerve a bit.  And he watched as Cyclonus departed, the tiny bot in his arms sleeping soundly as ever.

There had been a significant dip in volume as Cyclonus moved through the bar, dozens of optics watching him.  Some were the honed gazes of soldiers, warily observing the tread of his steps and the cradle of his arms for signs of falter.  Others bore softness, focused only on Tailgate as he tucked his helm beneath Cyclonus’ chin.  No one spoke up and no one approached, though the testing probes of EM fields stretched out to nudge against the two, searching for signs of discontentment. Cyclonus passed through the door and into the hallway; the hum of conversation in the bar picked up again.

The swordsmech measured his steps effortlessly.  His pedes met the floor with deliberate placement, heel to point, in an effort to reduce shock and stabilize his balance.  His optics focused straight ahead at all times, ignoring whatever mechs he passed by, some halted in their own steps or mired in sudden silence.  None of them were of any significance. 

Tailgate’s arms cinched a little tighter around Cyclonus’ shoulders. The warmth of softly vented air gusted over his neck cables but this warranted nothing more than a quick glance down at the minibot before Cyclonus continued.  He carried Tailgate through the hallways of the _Lost Light_ , keying in entrance codes when he was met with doorways. One arm remained firmly beneath the little bot to keep him steady at all times.  Tailgate slept, undisturbed, all the way to Rodimus’ office.

Cyclonus paused outside its door, one clawed hand lifting to gently curl around the back of Tailgate’s helm after pressing the com button to request access.  The door opened; his optics sharpened before he took a step inside.

Rodimus was perched on top of his desk, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back, giving his second-in-command his signature slag-eating grin.  Ultra Magnus stood sentinel offside, a stern furrow saying that he clearly didn’t approve of the Captain’s choice in seating but had long learned that engaging corrective measures was a futile effort.  They both turned face Cyclonus when he entered, their expressions dissolving into surprise.  Rodimus softened his posture without even realizing it, sliding off of the desk without so much as a scrape. 

“You brought Tailgate?” he asked, his vocalizer seemingly stuck at a whisper as he approached the two, servos lifting as if he wanted to reach out for the minibot. 

“He had fallen asleep at Swerve’s,” Cyclonus explained, enunciating clearly to accommodate his lowered volume.  The hum of his vocalizer did nothing to disturb Tailgate, who remained still as ever, venting softly.  “I collected him on my way.  Don’t wake him.”

Rodimus’ hands stopped in their path and he let them fall to his sides as he nodded.  For extra measure, he took a step back.

“Do you not think it would’ve been wiser to return him to your habsuite before joining us here?” Ultra Magnus said, his austere tone somehow all the more foreboding now that he wasn’t speaking at natural register.  Cyclonus remained unaffected.

“I would detail the reasons for my decision if you didn’t already know them for yourself,” he said, meeting Ultra Magnus’ hard frown. 

“Come on, Magnus, don’t reprimand him for bringing the little guy here; I know you’re happy about it.”

Ultra Magnus made an indignant noise and then stopped himself in the middle of it since it was apparently louder than he’d intended.  After affirming that the minibot was, indeed, still asleep, he merely folded his arms and turned his gaze aside, lips pressing together in a firm line.

“What was it that you summoned me for?” Cyclonus said, returning his focus to Rodimus, who was still smirking at his Second.

“Mh? Oh, right.”  Rodimus leaned back against his desk and gave Cyclonus a long look-over, scanning him from horns to pedes.  His examination halted as his optics drew upwards again and settled at the point where the purple mech’s arms were still cradled beneath Tailgate, keeping him supported as he slept.  Rodimus sighed out softly, bringing up a servo to rub at his neck.  “Look, fact is plain as ever that Tailgate there has no problem with you.  He trusts you.  He’s comfortable with you.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that even if the little guy trusts you, there’s a lot of the crew who don’t.”

“Including you,” Cyclonus stated unabashedly.  Rodimus narrowed his optics a bit, his arms folding over his chestplate.

“I’m still wary.  So prove me wrong; this is your chance,” he challenged. “I’m not gonna try and convince you to give up whatever guardianship you’ve decided to have over Tailgate.  I’m not gonna try and convince Tailgate that you’re bad news.”  Rodimus paused, watching as the sleeping minibot nuzzled his faceplate against Cyclonus’ collar ridge in his sleep.  There was a drowsy, unbidden pulse of Tailgate’s field, radiating nothing but calm and contentment that washed over them all like a warm rainfall. Cyclonus remained stalwart as ever. 

Rodimus shook his head a little to refocus.

“You want a new life, then start by using those bodyguarding skills you’re so renowned for and keep the kid safe.”

There was a sincere lack of amusement on Cyclonus’ features.  And with a drawn-out huff from his vents, he turned aside as if to leave.

“I hope lecturing me about my convictions has been productive for you, Captain,” Cyclonus said with no small amount of exasperation, “as it has certainly brought no novel considerations to me whatsoever.  I’ll be taking my leave now.”

“Hold it,” Ultra Magnus interrupted. Cyclonus waited, though he didn’t turn back to face them.  “Your motivations and all else aside, we want to make it clear to you that there’s more at stake here than just what you might think.”

“What is it that you want?” Cyclonus asked, patience wearing, though he did not raise his voice nor shift the minibot in his arms.

“Tailgate is important,” Ultra Magnus said.  “There are many here on the _Lost Light_ who value his presence, his friendship.  He is a treasured individual.”

“Are you under the impression that I do not know this?” Cyclonus asked.  For good measure, this time he did turn around, gaze passing over Rodimus to lock onto Ultra Magnus.  “Swerve tempers all the drinks he gives Tailgate with sweetened ration-grade, and cuts him off before he consumes past a reasonable limit. Chromedome has taken to carrying both Tailgate and Rewind on either shoulder when Tailgate goes to visit them.  The minibots hold hands when they walk down the hallways.  Not six cycles ago, I saw Tailgate with Drift on the fifth sector observation deck, prayingbeneath the starlight. Whirl has mentioned, publicly, on more than one occasion, that Tailgate’s company has kept him from following through with some of his more unintelligent impulses; that young bot, Pipes, apparently has started to gain more friends after Tailgate encouraged him to spend time together.  All this and the accounts of dozens of other mechs, and more still whose reasons I cannot glean, but whose fields betray a quiet loyalty to a minibot they may have only spoken to briefly.”

Cyclonus narrowed his optics as his hold tightened around Tailgate fractionally.  Ultra Magnus and Rodimus blinked back at him.

“Even a fool could see for themselves that Tailgate is someone whose value goes beyond a single facet of understanding. As I have said before, your words and warnings have not changed my perspective.  I already know.  I have already seen.  And I have already decided what my part is.”

He did not ask for leave this time.  Cyclonus turned again and exited, the door sliding shut with a satisfying lock once he had passed through it.  The return journey to their habsuite was quiet, uninterrupted, wandering brightly-lit hallways with the occasional passerby, most of whom watched Cyclonus as he walked along with Tailgate in his arms.

“Cyclonus,” someone called out right at the moment he’d stopped to open their door.  The purple mech turned to one side, finding Drift approaching them with a contented smile on his face.  Cyclonus would’ve frowned deeper if it were possible.

“What is it?” he asked as Drift came to a stop next to them.

“Could you give this to Tailgate?  He forgot it earlier.”  Drift held out a tiny datapad and put it into Cyclonus’ servo when it extended to accept what was offered.  “Poor little bot, he must be so tired.  He was up early helping Perceptor in the labs this morning, did you know?”

“I did.”

Drift chuckled, giving a little nod.

“I figured you would.  You keep a good optic on him.  He’s very blessed to have you watching over him.”

Cyclonus gave Drift a lingering look before turning back to keying in the code lock again.

“He mentioned to me…Tailgate did….  He said he was happy to have you as a friend.  And—for whatever it’s worth to you—I’m happy you have him too.  His presence in your life has visibly altered your aura.”

Cyclonus refrained from deriding Drift at that comment.  Let him think what he liked.

“You’re happy too, aren’t you?” Drift continued.  “In your own way.”

“What does it matter?”

Cyclonus stilled as a black hand reached out and came to rest gently at the back of Tailgate’s helm, his optics sliding over to look Drift in the face once more.

“It matters,” the white mech insisted quietly.  “It matters to him.” 

Cyclonus watched as Drift’s thumb traced an invisible glyph against the minibot’s helm and the repeated the same before Cyclonus’ forehelm.  A seal, it seemed to him.

“The bonds we make with one another affect more than just the two involved.  In this way, the joy and love we share reaches beyond the sphere of our own influence, and into the lives of many. Its flow is continuous as long as it is accepted and unhindered.”  Drift smiled at Cyclonus, touching his pauldron kindly.  “You have a good night.”  Drift’s hands withdrew from them both and he turned, walking away at a leisurely pace with a song hummed under his vents.

The habsuite was dark when Cyclonus entered.  And when he settled Tailgate down on the berth, there was a strangeness in the cables of his arms, their tension relaxed now that the minibot’s weight had been laid away from them.  Tailgate stirred a little, a soft blue light rising from his visor as he looked up at Cyclonus. 

“Go back to sleep,” Cyclonus said lowly, withdrawing to leave.  Tailgate reached up and wrapped sleep-weakened digits around his claws and tugged on them just a bit.  There was a gentle but very deliberate nudge of the minibot’s EM field against Cyclonus’, insistent and wanting.

Cyclonus drew closer, crouching next to the berth so he could be at optic-level with Tailgate.

Tailgate scooted forward a little until he touched his forehelm to Cyclonus’ nasal ridge.

“Kiss me g’night…?” he mumbled sleepily, tiny fingers tightening around one large claw.  The question fizzed gently in the minibot’s field until Cyclonus smoothed over it with assurance, pouring out in an unbridled overflow from his spark.  He tilted his helm just so and pressed a kiss right to Tailgate’s facemask, the waves of warmth and quiet happiness weaving back and forth between them as he lingered.

“Sleep now,” Cyclonus repeated as Tailgate’s mask retracted.  Lips bared….  Tailgate counted the kisses they shared until he slipped into recharge once again.  He wouldn’t remember how many there were when he woke up, only that there were enough to make the bigger mech sigh with satisfaction before Tailgate began to dream.


	2. Chapter Two: Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say that even though this chapter came out quickly, I'm notoriously bad at updating frequently and tend to operate on a idgaf schedule when it comes to posting new chapters. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy! More pointless plotless cuteness.
> 
> Also, still looking for a [beta reader!](http://rednaelo.tumblr.com/post/96489277141) Check this out if you're interested!
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> -Bec

Cyclonus was always up before he was.  It wasn’t too long ago that Tailgate would wake and find himself alone, the habsuite host only to the soft whirs and beeps of his own machinery.  Cyclonus would be gone.  And he wouldn’t be seen again until Tailgate went looking for him.  Less so now.  Tailgate would online his optics and blink them a few times behind his visor, turn to one side on the berth, and find Cyclonus still there.  Oftentimes sitting at the desk with a display screen pulled up, the elegant curves of his claws typing out Primus knew what but whatever it was, it was obviously important to the swordsmech.

He was there this time too.  Not busy, though.  Cyclonus sat in the chair and gazed across the room to the window, measuring the distances between the stars with patient red optics.  The _Lost Light_ wandered today, floating between nebulae and luring in the wishes that had slipped from shooting stars.  Or maybe the buoyancy was all in Tailgate’s spark as he carefully touched his pedes to the floor before sliding off the berth. Small servos pressed together and his little digits meandered between each other as he tap-tap-tapped over to where Cyclonus sat, optics now drawn to the minibot approaching him.

“You’re here,” Tailgate murmured, face upturned, mask still retracted, his smile the sigh of joy that had punctuated his words.

“I am,” Cyclonus affirmed.  And when Tailgate put those gently wringing hands on his arm, he covered him with his own fingers.  “You recharged deeply.”

“I feel wonderful,” Tailgate said, on tiptoe.  Cyclonus watched him for a moment and then, holding his arm steady so the little bot wouldn’t falter for a moment, he leaned and kissed the soft smile that entreated him so dearly.

“Drift left something for you,” Cyclonus said once the kiss broke and he had a space to speak into.  Tailgate chased after it for another kiss and managed to take it along with the datapad that Cyclonus pulled from his subspace and offered to him.

“Oh, yeah!” the little bot said, flicking through it for a moment.  From what Cyclonus could glean, it was mostly blank save for a couple lines of input. The little datapad had been a gift, apparently, from the _Lost Light’s_ third-in-command: a blank vessel given in the hopes that Tailgate would fill it as he liked.

“It doesn’t have anything in it yet.  Just a few dates and some reminders….  What do you put in things like this?” Tailgate looked up at Cyclonus as if whatever answer he gave could resolve all known mysteries in life.  Cyclonus wondered when that faith would temper and ease into the reality that the swordmech’s opinion wasn’t worth much in the spectrum of things.

“Fill it with what’s important to you,” he said simply.  Tailgate glanced down at the datapad in his servos and its few lines of text glowing gently on the display.  Nanokliks ticked by as the minibot considered what things could qualify as important, returning with the idea that there were too few…and not nearly enough.  After a moment, he offered the datapad to Cyclonus.

“Will you put the lyrics to the song you’re teaching me, here?”

Bent forward so the minibot could see, Cyclonus tapped out each individual glyph; Tailgate leaned against him, singing along quietly with his cheek pressed to Cyclonus’ shoulder pauldron.  Cyclonus corrected his pronunciation when he needed it.  By the end of the entry, they were harmonizing.

* * *

 

Drift returned the datapad to Tailgate after reading the lyrics the little bot had shown him.

“I think Cyclonus gave you good advice about it,” he said as Tailgate clutched the pad and looked down at it with his visor glowing gently, field humming with satisfaction.  “That journal is yours to use as you like.  It’ll hold a substantial bit of information; put whatever you want in it.

“Thanks again for giving it to me,” Tailgate said before tucking the datapad into his subspace.  “I’m excited to start filling it up.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Drift smiled.

The fifth sector observation deck was one of the less-frequented recreation areas aboard the _Lost Light_.  Mostly because it was comparatively quite small and could only host about four standard-sized mechs – five, if they didn’t need a lot of room to move about.  It fit Drift and Tailgate quite comfortably, though, even with all the strange, overlarge mesh cushions strewn about.  Tailgate liked the cushions.  They felt nice against the delicate sensory paths in his derma and there were so many!  He would gather together a sumptuous mound of them to snuggle into while Drift would always pick the same one every time – worn, repeatedly mended and flattened from frequent use – to sit on, his spinal strut straight as his great sword.

On this occasion, however, Tailgate had invited Drift to join him and recline in his nest for a little while before they did anything else.

“We can connect with the cosmos anytime,” Tailgate had insisted, “lemme show you what I wrote this morning.  Or, well, sort of….”

And now it was just the two of them, staring up into the domed glass of the deck’s ceiling, watching the stars spinning slowly overhead.

“Do you keep a journal too, Drift?” Tailgate asked him.  The minibot rolled onto his side to get a better look at his companion as they lay there.

“I do.  Not as diligently as I would like, but I do have a place to put my thoughts when it strikes me.”

“What do you write in it?”

Drift turned and faced Tailgate as well, smiling at him gently.

“Prayers mostly,” he said in a murmur.  “Memories.  Insights that I’ve had about my past.  My wishes for the future.  Sometimes letters to people.  Haphazard attempts at poetry.  When I’m overcharged, anyway, I try.  They’re only good at the bottom of a bottle, though.”

“Those all sound like good things to write down,” Tailgate said with a slow nod.  “Okay, cool. I was a little lost about what to do.  I mean, Cyclonus says ‘important things’ and you say ‘anything’ but….  You say that to someone like me and all I can think of is just writing down what I do every day.  And maybe the names of all the people I know.”

“That’s a good start, Drift said.  “I know there are bots who like to chronicle their day-to-day.  It’s a good practice.  A good meditative exercise too.”

“That _would_ be why you like it, Drift,” Tailgate giggled.  Drift just shrugged along with his smile.

“Meditation is just a means of altering your consciousness,” he said.  “You change the way your processor operates from its default.  Shift your focus; isolate your energy and explore it.  It’s not all just sitting and stillness and silence.”

“Ooh, ooh, I wanna explore those options, then,” Tailgate said, nodding in eagerness.  “Teach me those ways.”

“I guess after spending millennia without moving, a more active method sounds better, huh?”

“Nah, I was unconscious for most of that.  I just hate sitting still for so long without talking.  I usually just end up…um…falling asleep.  Sorry....”

Drift laughed.

“No, it’s okay, I understand.  It happens to me too.”

There was a visible relaxation to Tailgate’s shoulders at that.

“I think,” Drift continued, “I might have something that’ll work for you.”

He sat up, crossing his legs before rummaging around in his subspace. Tailgate followed him up, digits drumming against his knees in anticipation.  Before long, Drift retrieved a small biosphere and held it out for Tailgate to take.  The minibot was locked in a surprised focus. He neglected to receive it, too intent on trying to understand what was being offered to him.

“What,” he said, visor gleaming bright in curiosity.  Inside the sphere – cupped gently in Drift’s palm but large enough for Tailgate to need both hands to hold (if he ever decided to use them) – was a compacted mass of organic terra and out of it curled a delicate green sprig.

“I picked this up from an organic planet a while back,” Drift said, turning the orb in his hand very slightly as he peered inside.  “It’s in stasis at the moment since I’ve been busy and haven’t had the chance to find a place for it.  But I think giving it to you is the right choice.”

“But what is it?” Tailgate asked, field stretching out and retracting again as he wavered between curiosity and uncertainty.

“It’s a flower,” Drift told him, holding his empty hand out for Tailgate, who lifted his servos without really realizing it. “A species called _Maranthes nox_.  I think it was colloquially known as nightsweet?  It’s a tiny blossom and it takes a while to bloom but its petals glitter in the darkness.  It’s very beautiful.”

Tailgate took the biosphere into his hands as Drift guided them.  He brought it close to his face to get a better look when he was assured it wasn’t going to spontaneously combust in his careful grip.

“What’s a flower?”

Drift chuckled.

“An organic life-form,” he said.  “Non-sentient.  Well, this one is, anyway.  But still alive.”

“Oh….  So, I guess I have to feed him, then,” Tailgate said quietly, turning the dome to look at it from different angles.  The verdant sprout quivered gently with each turn.  “What does he eat?”

“Nutrients from the soil,” Drift said, pointing to the clump of dirt that the flower was nestled into.  “And water.  A little starlight.”

“Okay…that shouldn’t be too hard,” Tailgate said.  “I could probably get water from the labs, right?”

“That’s where I would go.”

“Okay.  Okay, I can do that.”  Tailgate finally pulled his optics away to look up at Drift.  “What does this have to do with meditation?”

“A lot,” Drift said, smiling at the minibot. “Your perspective shifts considerably when you’re given responsibility, especially over a life.  And the physical act of caregiving evokes a particular serenity as well.  You’ll see if you’re diligent with your nurturing.”

“I will be,” Tailgate promised.  “I can take care of Nightsweet.   Is this sphere a good home for him after I take him out of stasis?”

“Should be fine. Though you should leave the lid off once it’s big enough.  It’ll continue to grow, after all.”

“Right,” Tailgate said nodding.  “Organics are really bizarre….”

Drift’s hands lifted and he cradled the minibot’s smaller ones in them.  Together they held the tiny life for a moment, Tailgate glance upwards questioning in pure blue gleam.  Drift’s faceplates heated a little.

“I wanted to give you a,” he paused, searching for the word, “blessing of sorts, I guess.  To mark this moment as the beginning of something new in your life.”

Tailgate’s field pulsed gentle pleasure against him, opening for Drift’s energy to envelop him.

“Okay, sure,” he said.  “Can I write your blessing down in my journal later?”

Drift grinned, his hands tightening fractionally around Tailgate’s.

“I’d be honored.”

Sitting there together with their servos supporting the biosphere, optics shuttered and helms bent, Drift comm’d into a private frequency and prayed while Tailgate listened intently.  The tide of their resonance flooded the small room, every space filled and every boundary gently invaded with a hum of tranquility.  Of hopefulness.

Despite the moment’s brevity, Drift’s every word poured peace straight into Tailgate’s spark; he vented a little easier.  And when it passed, the minibot felt one of Drift’s servos withdraw to trace that familiar seal against his forehelm.

“Life is in the way we love others,” Drift murmured.  His other hand left Tailgate’s and moved instead to cup the little mech’s face.  “A freely-given gift.  One that I know you will share.”

Tailgate’s optics sparkled behind his visor.  A deep warmth bloomed from his spark when Drift leaned in and kissed his forehelm.  Strong arms carefully embraced him.

“Oh….”

“Thank you, Tailgate.”

“…for what?”

“For your willingness to love,” Drift said softly.  “You are a rarity, in this age of lost friends and lost innocence.  While we mend our wounds and sparkbreak, it’s mechs like you who will keep us strong in the face of our tribulations.”

Tailgate laughed, pleased but skeptical.

“I dunno if I can do anything like that.  I’m just me.”

“Just you is fine,” Drift assured him, loosening his hug so he could smile at Tailgate.  “Every one of your friends here, we all very much enjoy ‘just you.’”

Tailgate beamed.  He carefully tucked his little flower into his subspace and then reached up, drawing Drift’s surprised face downward until he could press his facemask to Drift’s helm.  Drift gave a breathless chuckle that turned to a smile on his lips, his hands squeezing Tailgate’s shoulders gently.

“Thanks Drift.  For Nightsweet.  And your prayer.  And the journal.  And for calling me your friend.”  The minibot nuzzled at Drift’s nasal ridge.

“You’re more than welcome,” Drift answered.  “Always.”


	3. Chapter Three: Perceptor and Brainstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhahaha. It's really funny because I started writing this chapter and then MTMTE 33 came out and it kinda...made me rethink how I should approach this particular scene. And then after some encouragement from my girlfriend I just decided to hell with it and wrote what I originally intended anyway. So, enjoy this! Still unbeta'd so I apologize for any screwups. Hope you like!
> 
> -Bec

This time, when the door opened, Perceptor’s slam-and-lock ping was met with silence.  Well, no, actually it was met with Brainstorm’s triumphant cackle and followed up with the jaunty cadence of his approaching pedesteps.  Perceptor opted for his second line of defense: ignore him until he went away.  A poor prospect that yielded a less than ten percent rate of success.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I did it?” Brainstorm sneered as he leaned on Perceptor’s lab table, bumping their hip plates together hard enough to make the paint squeal off.  Perceptor snapped the pipette he was holding on accident and glared down at it like Ultra Magnus would glare at Drift whenever the third-in-command would wholeheartedly agree with one of the Captain’s dumbaft ideas.  It wasn’t the pipette’s fault.  Perceptor shut his optics and vented in…and out, cleaning up the mess before digging through the drawer to replace his equipment.

No, he wasn’t going to ask Brainstorm how he managed to override SaL Command 3.0 because ten nanokliks of silence had now passed.  Cue automatic explanation launch….

“Door lock was cracked in record time, by the way.  To combat your unnecessary door-slamming, I brought a slug with a Labyrinth program on it: my own spectacular design.  By my estimate, that door won’t close again for another decacycle!”

Perceptor rolled his optics and carefully selected a new pipette, still not looking in the direction of this unwelcome interruption.

“And what, pray tell, will keep the entire ship from suffering the consequences of your genius solution when, say, your grievously intrepid experimentation enacts lab quarantine protocols, only for the door to remain steadfast and wide open?”

“You have such little faith in me,” Brainstorm lamented, though obviously unfazed.

Perceptor scoffed.  He’d present evidence to support his stance of faithlessness if he wasn’t positive that Brainstorm would end up ignoring him, distracting himself with some volatile chemicals nearby and proceeding to add to the list of said evidence.  As such, Perceptor simply returned to his experiment.

“Plus, the slug can be removed at any time to shut the door again,” Brainstorm continued, hiking himself up onto the lab table.  “Just pluck it right out and, boom, slammed shut.”

“Get off the table, Brainstorm,” Perceptor groaned.

“Well, I couldn’t see what you were doing properly; you were standing in my line of vision,” Brainstorm said.  “So, what are you doing?”

“I’m _attempting_ to create a more effective medical adhesive compound for Ratchet.”

“Can’t he do that himself?”

“Not when he’s busy reconstructing half the bots from our last adventure, he can’t.”  Perceptor narrowed his optics at Brainstorm and let out a long sigh when he was met with nothing but a shining smile that withstood the concealment of Brainstorm’s facemask.  “Will you get off the lab table now?”

“Sure thing!”  Brainstorm hopped back down, taking position to stand dutifully at Perceptor’s side.  “How can I help?”

“How can you—”  Perceptor had to put down the beaker he was mixing with to offer the vessel some sort of stability, as his world was suddenly turned on end.  He turned to face Brainstorm directly and folded his arms across his chest, optic ridge rising.  “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” Brainstorm quipped back, still grinning quite loudly with his eyes.

“You don’t ask things like ‘how can I help,’ what in –.  Oh, Primus, you’re glitched; something’s mangling your systems….”

“Aw, are you scared for me?” Brainstorm said, giggling.  “Naw, Perce, I’m not glitched.  I’m just really fraggin’ bored.  You’ve been leaving me hanging for the better part of the decacycle, y’know.  I could wait longer, sure, but why do that when I could just…not?  I’ll do whatever you like today, hot stuff.”

It was as if each word Brainstorm spoke just added weight on the brittle foundation of Perceptor’s patience.  It snapped all once when Brainstorm gave him a sultry wink.

“I’d like you to leave,” Perceptor intoned, pointing straight into the hallway.  “Have a nice day.”

“Um, hello?”

Two helms whipped around to catch sight of a white minibot standing innocuously in the lab’s still-gaping doorway and in his arms was the pale blue sphere of a terrarium.  Optics hopeful behind their visor, though one pede stood toe-touched behind the other as if contemplating a quiet retreat in case his presence wasn’t quite welcomed.

“I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?” Tailgate asked.

Perceptor his mouth and was promptly interrupted by Brainstorm advancing on the minibot with open arms and a 2.7 decibel increase in vocalizer volume.

“Not at all!” he said, clapping a servo on the curve of a white pauldron and guiding the little guy further inside the lab.  “Perceptor was just advising me that I should let you in, and here you are, bright-opticked and bushy-tailpiped!”

“…bushy whatnow?”

“Tailgate,” Perceptor interrupted before the conversation could decay into further blithering, “is there something I can assist you with?”

Tailgate scooted away from Brainstorm a little and turned his face upwards to Perceptor.

“I was wondering if you could help me disengage the stasis locks on this,” he said, offering up the biosphere.  “And, um, I also need water.  Not a bunch all at once, but that organic creature needs a little bit every day; that’s what Drift said.  Do you have some here that I can have?”

Perceptor looked down at the orb he was presented, reticle focusing on its inhabitant to take preliminary scans.  His curious evaluation sagged into exasperation as Brainstorm hovered close by, practically vibrating with excitement and what Perceptor reckoned was a tenuous grasp of his urge to not to snatch the thing right out of Tailgate’s servos.

“May I?” Perceptor asked the minibot, extending his own hands to rescue the orb.  Tailgate nodded and placed it gently in Perceptor’s cupped hands.

“Ooh, a plant!  I mean, not nearly as fun or exciting as something with a brain in it, but still plenty interesting!” Brainstorm said, leaning over the minibot to try and get a better look.  Perceptor brought up one hand to Brainstorm’s forehelm and pushed him away before escorting Tailgate and his prize over to a clear table.  It wasn’t much of a deterrent; the nosy cretin bounced right after them.

“You said Drift gave you this,” Perceptor said, mostly just thinking aloud, though Tailgate nodded anyway.

“Mmhmm!  His name is Nightsweet and I’m going to take care of him.  Need water for that, so I figured I’d ask here before going anywhere else.  You got some, right? Because even though I said I’d ask here before going anywhere else, I don’t really know anywhere else I would ask.”

The scientist smiled and turned the sphere gently on the bench’s surface to examine its stasis lock.

“I think we have enough water to sustain your flower,” he assured the little bot as he fiddled with the electronic inputs.  “And the next time we make port, we can refill the reserves so you don’t have to worry about running out.”

A soft beep and a slight hiss indicated the stasis deactivation and Perceptor carefully lifted the lid for Tailgate to see, the little bot clinging to the side of the table on his tiptoes.  The tiny sprout trembled gently in the atmosphere; Tailgate let out a chipper little pulse as he watched.  Perceptor blinked down at him and then found himself easing, earlier tension dispersing in light of the minibot’s quiet excitement.

“So, so, how much water should I give him? You know about flowers, right?  What color is he gonna be? How big will he get?  Drift said I could keep him in this sphere; do you think that’s a good idea?  There aren’t any rules about keeping organic creatures as pets, are there?  Oh, Primus, you don’t think Ultra Magnus is gonna take him away, do you?  Well, but, Drift is the one who gave him to me.  He wouldn’t do that if it was against the rules, right?”

Tailgate halted in his babbling and gave an embarrassed giggle, thunking his forehelm down on the edge of the table.

“Course it’s not against the rules, it’s just a flower,” he mumbled.

Perceptor chuckled gently and gave Tailgate a congenial pat on the shoulder.  Brainstorm suddenly darted off deeper into the lab and though Perceptor tracked him for a moment, he gave in to simply rolling his optics and focusing on what was in front of him rather than the asinine antics of the weapons specialist.

“Not against the rules,” Perceptor confirmed.  “If I have the species correctly identified, your flower will only need enough water to keep the soil properly damp.  So if you see it getting dry, just add enough to moisten it again, that should be fine.”

Tailgate lifted his helm again and gave a sharp nod.  Then there was another excited pulse and the minibot let go of the ledge of the table to go rooting around in his subspace retrieving a data pad, upon which he diligently began typing notes.  Perceptor smiled.  Note-takers restored his faith in the universe.

“If you take good care of it, you should expect to see full, dark blue blossoms with a shimmery velvet coating the petals.  Continued maintenance will allow this plant to flourish and it may indeed outgrow this small vessel.  My suggestion is to either upgrade as necessary.  You may also cut blooms as you see fit in order to control the growth.”

“Won’t that damage him?” Tailgate asked, pausing in his typing to peer up at Perceptor.

“Not at all,” Perceptor said.  “Many plants thrive more effectively when trimmed regularly.  And even if you prune it back, this particular species will continue to grow as long as its roots remain in the soil and it’s provided with suitable nutrients.”

“Oh, okay.”

“A-ha!”

Perceptor looked up just in time to see Brainstorm leaning over the opposite side of the table with a pair of forceps in his hand.  The little sprig wobbled in its bowl, bereft of a leaflet that had been plucked away. 

“Oh!” Tailgate peeped.  His little datapad clattering down as his hands flew up and froze, startled into action by adrenal responses but then halted when it sank in that the damage had already been done.  The stipule was pinched delicately between the forceps’ fingers that Brainstorm held up in personal triumph.  Perceptor was sure that if he hooked himself up to the right monitors, he would return positive readings for energon boiling in his veins.

Carefully, Tailgate reached and gathered the little tendril closer, making soft, distressed beeps as he turned to inspect the dismemberment.  He touched the edge of the rip with the tip of his finger and a quiet whine warbled out.  Then his helm snapped up and he fixed Brainstorm with as much palpable rage that he could muster.

“You glitchead!” Tailgate cried, “Whadja go and do that for!”

“Honestly, Brainstorm!” Perceptor chastised, “that plant does not belong to you!  How do you not possess the decency to even ask permission before snagging specimens off things that aren’t yours!”

“What, I’m sorry!” Brainstorm said, holding up his free hand to placate the two furious bots in front of him.  Though Tailgate looked like his visor was gonna spring a coolant leak any second, optics shimmering fluorescent.  “It’s just a little leaf, no big deal, yeah?  And he just said it wouldn’t hurt the thing, squeaky, your flower’s fine.”

“It wasn’t yours to take!” Tailgate insisted, cradling the flower close against his chestplate.

“It wasn’t,” Perceptor affirmed.  “You _will_ make it up to him.”

“By doing what?” Brainstorm asked with a melodramatic shrug. “It’s not like I can just graft the leaf back on; that thing’s gone.”  He pointedly pulled a phial from his subspace and dropped the tiny leaf into it before capping and storing it once again.

Tailgate’s chin wobbled behind his facemask and he cast his eyes downwards, trying not to blubber over the whole ordeal.  Brainstorm was right.  Nightsweet would be fine.  Somehow, though, it didn’t much matter when he glanced down at the curl of green and saw it gimped on one side.  So needless….  Tailgate vented one hard bluster and knelt to pick up his datapad.

“I’ll come by for the water some other time, Perceptor,” he mumbled, and carefully made his way back towards the door.

Perceptor watched Tailgate mope away, shoulders sagged in defeat.  He scowled hard, picked up the nearest thing he could find – a socket wrench – and beaned Brainstorm in the head with it.

“Ow!”

Perceptor vaulted over the lab table and snagged Brainstorm hard by the collar, hauling him in close to hiss viciously in his face.

“If that minibot does not leave this lab happier than he was when he came in, not only will I go straight to the officers to petition they revoke your lab access _permanently_ , but I will personally see to it that you will walk gimped for the next vorn.”

Brainstorm arched an optic ridge at Perceptor, a smirk coming to life in his optics.

“Thought you didn’t like your marks to show, _Perce_ ,” he whispered, breath fogging hot from behind his mask.

“Or shall I just deprive you of that which you so ardently crave?” Perceptor returned, before shoving him back unkindly.  “I’ll put a stop to this.  To us.  Right now.”

“Over a fraggin’ leaf?!” Brainstorm exclaimed.  Perceptor smacked him in the helm again.

“You broke that bot’s spark and, Primus help me, he didn’t do a damn thing to warrant it,” Perceptor said, shoving Brainstorm hard towards the door.  “Fix it.”

Brainstorm stumbled and clomped gracelessly towards Tailgate trying to regain his balance.  A glance backward showed Perceptor leaning against the lab table, arms folded, countenance quite seriously irritated.  Brainstorm sighed in a huff and caught up to the minibot.

“Hey, hold on there, squeaky.”

“Don’t call me that....”

“Haha, right, sorry, sorry.”  Brainstorm put a gentle hand on Tailgate’s shoulder to halt his progress and then crouched down a bit.  “Listen, Tailgate.  I’m sorry about taking the leaf, alright? Shoulda asked first. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting what I wanted and I’m sorry.”

Tailgate turned his helm to face Brainstorm and leveled him with a serious and tearful stare.

“You’re just saying that cuz Perceptor made you,” he finally said.

“Mostly, yeah,” Brainstorm admitted.  “But, hey, look, you’re a cute kid and cute kids shouldn’t cry over plucked leaves, so I’m gonna make you a present, okay? Something to make all the tears go away.  You’ll love me for it.”

“…I doubt it.”

“Doubt me not!  I’m a fraggin’ genius.”  Brainstorm promptly lifted Tailgate into his arms – much to the minibot’s surprise and startled protest – and then deposited him on the lab table.

“Not on the table, Brainstorm,” Perceptor sighed, rubbing his optics wearily.

“Aw, c’mon, let the kid dawdle on the bench; he’s tiny! Look at him!”

Perceptor approached the table and sighed, giving Tailgate a shrug and an exasperated shake of his helm as he watched Brainstorm dart about the lab, babbling to himself as he collected parts.

When Tailgate finally did leave, he carried Nightsweet back home in a self-modulating terrarium full of moist, loamy soil, enough water in its tanks to last him for the next two decacycles, and the words ‘Love, Brainstorm’ carved on the bottom.


	4. Chapter Four: Wellspring Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to get out! Welcome to the first of the few group-interaction chapters, featuring a whole bunch of bots whom we haven't seen yet! Pretty much everyone mentioned in this chapter will be featured in individual chapters later. Again, there's no real plot here, it's just a bunch of cute cracky nonsense but I hope you enjoy it! Unbeta'd so pardon my dust. Also first smutty chapter is up next so have fun waiting around for that. Thanks and I hope you like it! 
> 
> -Bec

Tailgate trotted up next to Cyclonus and slid his hand into the taller mech’s palm.  It was still a rather long walk to Swerve’s but he could hear the music thrumming through the halls just the same.  Everyone was showing up for this one; Tailgate couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited!  Without even thinking about it, his pedesteps lined up to the bass beats, which was just enough to help him keep pace with Cyclonus’ long strides.  He hummed along with the melody that floated faintly through the hallway, a song that he’d only heard once or twice and didn’t know the words to.  He tried singing it anyway.  And maybe every now and then his shoulders shimmied a bit and he gave a little excited hop instead of just stepping forward.  Long claws folded softly over his little fingers that tapped out the beat against Cyclonus’ hand.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Tailgate said, tugging just a bit his companion, optics glittering happily up at him.  “I know it isn’t really your favorite thing, hanging out with a bunch of people.  But it’s really nice that you’re coming anyway.”

Cyclonus glanced down at the minibot who had decided to start dancing a little early as they made their way towards Swerve’s.  There was a scattered crowd accompanying them through the corridor: friends laughing and jostling each other, a few of them already at the beginnings of overcharge which surely would only continue through the night.  Cyclonus gave the little bot a nod.

“I promised I would.”

“Yeah!” Tailgate bounced a little.  “I’m glad I get to celebrate with everyone, but I’m happier that you’re going to be there.”

Another nod.  Cyclonus halted when there a distinct pull on the hand that Tailgate held, turning to face the minibot where he stopped.  Tailgate shuffled gently from pede to pede.  Cyclonus could see his eager smile plainly, even hidden by the facemask.

“Can I ride on your shoulders?” Tailgate asked.  His hips were bumping alternately as the music reached his audials.  Cyclonus raised an optic ridge, keeping his amusement stifled for the moment.

“For the remaining three kliks that it’ll take us to get there?”

“Oh…yeah, I guess that’d be kinda dumb….”

Cyclonus gave one soft chuckle – largely unnoticed under the beat and chatter – and stooped a little to boost the minibot up.  Tailgate gave one excited trill and settled himself on Cyclonus’ shoulders, little hands wrapping gently around his horns.

It was a short walk.  Cyclonus curled his fingers carefully around Tailgate’s ankles, paying scant attention to how the little bot was bouncing a little on his shoulders as they made their way down the hallway.  Steadily the music grew louder, the vibrations humming through the struts of the ship itself.  Tailgate let his optics offline for a moment, listening to the song course through him.  His spark practically pulsed in time with it and he excitedly kicked his heels against Cyclonus’ chestplate.

The door to Swerve’s was locked open, music and lights and partygoers spilling out into the darkened hallway as Cyclonus walked the two of them inside. Tailgate gazed upwards, watching the colors spin and tumble across the ceiling and flicker prismatically off of chrome paneling.  Orbs of different glowing hues drifted gently amid the zero-grav field that hung near the ceiling, changing colors as they bumped into each other.  Occasionally, one of them would float down and somebody would smack it back upwards or volley it off to one of their friends with a laugh.  The main floor was mostly cleared, all the tables pushed towards the edges, making a wide space where a lot of mechs were dancing.

Cyclonus edged around the dance floor and went straight to the bar, pulling Tailgate off his shoulders once they reached it.

“Tailgate! Cyclonus!  Good to see you!” Swerve called as Cyclonus plunked Tailgate into the only open barstool.  “Happy Wellspring, guys!  Check out this crowd, huh?  Everyone’s here, and I mean everyone!  You see Ultra Magnus over there?  He came with Rodimus and – listen to this – he didn’t even cite me for breaking acceptable decibel codes with the music this loud; I couldn’t fraggin’ believe it!”

Tailgate giggled and took the glass that Swerve had poured and pushed towards him.  He didn’t even have to ask for it; Swerve knew his favorite. 

“Happy Wellspring to you too, Swerve,” Tailgate greeted, giggling a little as the bartender leaned over the counter to drop the loopiest silly straw Tailgate had ever seen into his cup.  “Heehee, thanks!  You’re not gonna stay behind the bar all night, are you? I mean there’s a whole party going on, dunno if you noticed.”

“Don’t you worry about me, I got Atomizer comin’ to take over for me in half a cycle.  No way I’m missing out on everything.”  Swerve smiled a little as Tailgate early started sucking down his drink.  “What can I get ya, Cyclonus?” he asked the larger mech who was standing a solemn guard behind his friend.

“Stein of Qwartikol, if you would,” Cyclonus said, giving him a small nod.

“You got it.”

“Mmh!  Swerve, did you put something extra in this?  It’s…wow, I mean, it’s like sparkly in my mouth somehow,” Tailgate said, losing his focus a little as he tried to pinpoint the right way to describe the delicious taste on his glossa.  Swerve smirked at him, a soft rush of pink flushing his facial derma.

“I’ve been saving a little stash of star sugar for occasions like this.  Y’know, just a lil something festive for the night.  Makes it more special.”

“I love it!” Tailgate agreed.

“You want some on the rim, Cyclonus?” Swerve asked him, indicating the sizeable mug he’d retrieved for Cyclonus’ drink.

“You should!” Tailgate encouraged him.  “It’s delicious!”

Cyclonus’s mouth twitched into a skeptical smirk.  But then he shrugged up one shoulder and gave Swerve a nod.

“You’re the bartender,” he said.  “I would assume that star sugar wouldn’t blend well with something like Qwartikol.”

“You’d be surprised,” Swerve said as he dipped the rim of the glass in the sugar he had in a little pile on a plate.  “Qwartikol is distinctly sour but a bit of sweetness helps bring out the mellow taste beneath all that tart.  Here, give it a try.”

“Ooh, I wanna try too!”

“Tailgate, that stuff would knock you on your aft in a nanoklik,” Swerve said, chuckling.

“Just gimme a little, then,” he bargained.  “Just a shot….”

“Next time, kid, sure.”

Cyclonus took a careful sip, licking away the sugar from the inside of his top lip.  The sharpness of the high grade seared familiarly along the sides of his tongue, touched in a sweet burst at the tip that wound through delicately but didn’t overpower the flavor at all.  The swordsmech nodded in approval. Swerve grinned and gave him a little salute.

“I’ll be over there,” Cyclonus said to Tailgate, gesturing to one of the open booths at the edge of the room, the one next to where Perceptor and Drift were sitting and talking with each other.  “Join me whenever you like.”

A large hand crossed in front of Tailgate’s face, fingers tucking against his jaw and turning his helm just a little into the hidden kiss that Cyclonus pressed against his neck.

“Oh….”

“Enjoy yourself tonight.”

And with a singular soft pulse of his field – warm, adoring – Cyclonus left Tailgate there at the bar, taking his glass.  Tailgate watched him go; watched Drift wave him over before he could take a seat at the open table and smiled behind his facemask as Cyclonus joined them instead.

“Well, damn, that was a sight.”

Tailgate refocused his attention on Swerve, who was grinning at him deviously.

“Sh-shut up.  It was sweet…,” he muttered around his silly straw, slumping forward to fold his arms around his glass.  He was glad of his face mask to hide the glow on his cheeks.  But Tailgate had an inkling the flare of his field was projecting just how pleased he was loudly enough.

“Sure was,” Swerve agreed with a laugh.  “Got something else sweet for ya.  Hold your hands out.”

Tailgate held both servos up, cupped together in anticipation for whatever Swerve was about to give him.  Swerve pulled a little pouch out from his subspace and upended it over the bowl of Tailgate’s palms, filling them up with tiny multicolored spheres.  Tailgate gasped softly.

“Haha!  What in the world?”

“They’re energon treats,” Swerve told him.  “Made from high-grade.  So they’re really strong, but they’re super fraggin’ delicious and you should try one because I knew as soon as I had one for myself that you would love them.  Plus, they’re easier to moderate than drinking it so you won’t get massively overcharged out of nowhere. Try  one, try one!”

“I can’t, my hands are all full; I’d just drop them all!”

“Fine, I see how it is.”  Swerve laughed and plucked one of the treats from the little heap in Tailgate’s hands – a pale blue one.  “See, look, it’s your color.  Open up now, c’mon.”

Tailgate giggled and his facemask retracted.  Swerve found himself hesitating, mesmerized by the sight of those soft little lips parting, tongue reaching for the sweet bauble he had pinched between his fingers.  The bartender shook himself a bit and flicked the treat into Tailgate’s mouth with a laugh.  Tailgate startled a little, but smiled and chewed, letting the treat explode into heady saccharine syrup in his mouth.

“Oh wow,” he mumbled, optics lighting up.

“Told you it was good!” Swerve said, beaming.  Gosh, that smile was so adorable….  Swerve was two seconds from leaning across the bar and smooching those soft little cheeks. 

“These aren’t all for me, are they?  Even if they are, I’m sharing!”  Tailgate rattled his little handful in front of himself, nudging Swerve’s hand where he still held the little pouch.  The bartender chuckled and held it open so Tailgate could tip the treats back inside.  Tailgate snagged a pale yellow bubble to suckle on before Swerve bound up the pouch again.

“They’re all yours, kid.  But sharing them would be pretty swell of you.”  Swerve held out the little satchel to Tailgate, who had stuffed the treat into one cheek before letting his facemask snap back into place.  Swerve flinched a little at the sound, mostly due to an internal self-reprimand about not using the opportunity to take a picture.  Tailgate tucked the bag of treats into his subspace and hopped off the stool.

Bet you’d appreciate the free advertisement, right?” he said, visor glinting meaningfully.

“Call it…a favor for a friend?” Swerve amended.  Tailgate giggled.

“Yeah, okay.  See you later, Swerve!”

Only Tailgate didn’t leave because he was cut off by Rodimus suddenly vaulting up onto the bartop as the music surged.  A few of those seated at the bar scrambled to get their drinks away.  Most people just cheered while the captain of the _Lost Light_ began to dance rather provocatively.  Swerve’s alarmed cursing went unnoticed.

Tailgate stood next to his barstool and tilted his helm up to stare, suddenly finding himself pressed around on all sides by mechs who were hooting and laughing at the captain’s antics. The minibot just gaped up at him, watching as the spinning colors blazed off Rodimus’ spoiler and ignited the sparkle in his smile.  Rodimus gyrated on that bar like it was the stage for the best moment of his life.  Somewhere behind the counter, Swerve was warning the rash and ravishing captain against pouring any of the high-grade on himself just to ‘get a few dumbafts revved up.’  Tailgate caught the tirade and started snickering.

“Tailgate!”  The minibot startled, his optics snapping back up to catch Rodimus crouching low, hand outstretched.  “Come dance with me!”

“On the bar?!” Tailgate squeaked, though his hand had already started lifting in automatic response to the one offered. “I can’t dance like that!”

“You can dance like whatever!” Rodimus said, wrapping his fingers around Tailgate’s and helping him climb up.  The little bot’s footing quivered a little as he stepped up onto the barstool and then continued onto the counter.  Another cheer went up, but Tailgate was too busy, looking down at Swerve, his anxious field pulsing apologetically at him.  Swerve didn’t look too upset, though.  In fact, he almost looked like something amazing had just happened to him. Tailgate stifled a sudden burst of laughter.

“Dance!  Dance!” Rodimus was goading him, hands up in the air as he rocked his hips and bounced on the bartop.  “Aw, yeah, this song is my _jam!_  C’mon, Tailgate, dance with me!”

Tailgate would never think to climb onto a bar to dance.  It was a little nervewracking to have all those optics on him.  But the music was thrumming hard and making his fuel pump work fast, spreading the intoxicating sweetness of the high grade treats through his system, warming him up for action. 

So he let the beats wash through and take him. 

Tailgate drew a little closer to Rodimus and let his arms lift up in a mirror of how the bigger mech was carrying himself through his bump-and-grind exhibition.

“Like this?” Tailgate asked, his round little hips gyrating in his best impression of interface movements outside the berth.  Someone in the crowd gave a sharp whistle.  Rodimus look impressed, nodding along with a wily smirk as he danced.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it, you got it!” he crowed. 

“Oh, Primus,” Tailgate giggled, flushing hot as Rodimus shimmied in a little circle and then bent over, his hands on his knees while he backed his aft up until it was almost knocking against Tailgate’s pelvic plating. “Go dance on someone your own size!”

Rodimus straightened up with a raucous laugh, returning to something a little less interpersonal as he danced next to Tailgate.

“I would but my mechs of choice are all being boring in the corner!” Rodimus complained.  He was smiling too wide to actually be sincere about his disappointment.  And Tailgate knew perfectly well, just like every other person on the _Lost Light_ , that Rodimus’ first choice mechs were not the only contenders.  But, hey, it was a holiday, he probably wanted to rein it in for some solidarity.

“Hey, Skids, wanna grind?”

Or not.

Tailgate kept up his little rollicking bounce as he peered into the crowd and caught the theoretician looking quizzically up at Rodimus from where he had been engaged in a conversation with Brainstorm and Rung not far from the bar.  Skids pointed at himself, the question clear in his quirked optic ridges.

“Yeah, big bot, come hold me!”

“Rodimus, quit trying to turn the bartop into a dance floor!” Swerve protested.  “There’s a perfectly good dance floor that would make a fantastic dance floor!  Just for dancing!  With everyone, even!”

“Live a little!”

“Magnus is gonna get so mad….”  But Swerve didn’t push it.  He sighed and shrugged his shoulders with a shake of his head and smile, waving Skids on over when the blue mech goggled at him wordlessly for permission.  Yes, it was okay.  The damn bar might be on the floor before the night was over but, hey, if it was, then Swerve just had one other thing to keep busy with.  By Primus, he would make Rodimus pay for all the repairs out of subspace, though.

Tailgate was encouraged backwards as Rodimus advanced on him, shoulders shimmying forward as he leaned in and winked at the minibot.  And Tailgate couldn’t stop _giggling_.  Because it was all silly and ridiculous and was making his fuel tanks do funny flips and his cheeks feel pink. 

“Hope you don’t mind me chasing you a little,” Rodimus said with a grin, still angling into Tailgate’s space a little as they both kept up their dancing.  “Gotta make room for Skids.”  He rolled his optics a little, smile softening into something less predatory.

“You just like putting on a show for everyone,” Tailgate accused with a laugh.  “You want to be the most exciting thing at this party.”

“You’re a sharp little guy,” Rodimus said, though he beamed wickedly at being caught.  “You come here with Cyclonus?”

“Yeah!  He’s over there talking with Drift, see?”

Tailgate pointed.  Rodimus looked over his shoulder, still waggling his aft to the beat.  Drift was smiling wide.  He lifted his glass in happy acknowledgement when he caught Rodimus and Tailgate looking.  Cyclonus….  Cyclonus was sitting with his arms folded, legs apart, pedes firmly on the ground, optics sharp and red like a curse.  Rodimus’ rhythm failed him a little, and he swallowed back a shudder of discomfort as he locked optics with the purple mech. Tailgate waved excitedly at them but Cyclonus’ deathglare wasn’t softened even a smidgen.  Rodimus grimaced and looked away quickly.

“Well, he’s certainly radiating the holiday spirit,” Rodimus commented, visibly shaking off his discomfort to settle into the music again.  He took a couple steps away from Tailgate, just to be safe.  “He gonna eat me for that slag I pulled earlier, little bot?”

“Nah,” Tailgate said, still looking at the purple mech, smile hidden behind his face mask.  “He’s just jealous because he can’t dance.”

“You’ve gotta be fraggin’ kidding me.”  A burst of chuckles bubbled out of Rodimus when Tailgate’s visor winked at him.

“Well, he could dance, he just won’t.  And definitely not like you.  I think it would kill him.”

“I think it would kill a lot of us.”  Rodimus startled a little as arms suddenly encircled him but then he glanced back and found Skids smirking drunkenly at him and he grinned.  “Hey!  D’ja get lost?”

“I tripped and fell on my face,” Skids admitted as he smoothed his servos down Rodimus’ arms and let his fingers grip at the captain’s waist. Their hips rocked together quite fluidly for two mechs who were pretty slagfaced.  Tailgate caught himself staring and after trying to shake himself out of it, decided that he didn’t care to stop.  Rodimus let his optics shutter and his head fall back, tongue slipping over his teeth like it was some gesture of personal triumph.  “Hey, Tailgate!” Skids greeted, chin hooking over Rodimus’ shoulder.  Rodimus turned his helm to kiss the darkened scuff-mark on Skids’ cheek.

“Heheh, hi!  Happy Wellspring!”

“You too!” Skids returned.  Rodimus was off in his own little world, dancing and undulating blissfully in the cage of Skids’ arms.  And Skids was moving with him, but his optics were focused on Tailgate.  Tailgate was still staring.  There was so much to stare at.  And he should keep staring at everything, so said the little voice in his processor that was happily hoarding processed particles of high-grade to buzz and bumble around in his brain module.  “Having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah!” Tailgate said, his nod turning into a little head-bob as the bass pounded. “This is my first Wellspring celebration!  It’s also the first time I’ve ever danced in public.  I still don’t know why I agreed to climb up here….”

“That’s what happens when you listen to Captain Hot Helm,” Skids told him.  And then yelped when Rodimus purposefully stepped on his foot.    “You should try and get out on the dance floor.  I bet you’ll like it more.”

“Why would he? Up here is better!”

“Not everybody lives for the spotlight, Rodimus.”

“I dunno, it’s not so bad,” Tailgate said with a giggle.  “It’s kinda nice being the center of attention.”

“Aw, now, see what you’ve done?  You’re turning our sweet little minibot friend into a shameless thrill-seeker,” Skids teased, nudging Rodimus with a bump of his hips.  Rodimus let his eyes open and grinned at Tailgate.

“Stick with me and you’ll go far, kid,” he said.

“Don’t be fooled,” Skids said, “it’s lonely at the top; he’s just trying to lure you in so someone will finally play with him.”

Rodimus’ mouth opened to let out some indignant protest but Tailgate interrupted by suddenly jumping forward to clutch the captain’s forearms.  Rodimus blinked, looking down at the minibot in surprise.

“Lemme guess,” Tailgate said, “Ultra Magnus doesn’t understand the concept of playing and Drift doesn’t know how to have stupid fun, does he?”

“Uh….” Rodimus blinked again.

“I mean, Drift is a great mech and nice to be around, but I bet his idea of playing is more like swordplay, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, he definitely prefers swordplay, I’m sure,” Skids contributed smugly, giving Rodimus another pointed bump of his hips.  It was enough to make Rodimus guffaw out of his confusion.  Heheh, sex jokes, heh heh heh….

“Right, so, we should play together!” Tailgate concluded. “Like we can race or play games on the holodeck or, ooh!  Let’s come up with some stupid pranks that we can play on everyone!  But not mean ones, like, something that’s silly but will make everyone smile; that’d be fun!  Don’t you think?”

Rodimus was already smiling.  A grin that was a good mix of bewildered and ecstatic and it came across just looking goofy. Tailgate liked that smile; it was a smile that he bet hadn’t come out in a long time.  Rodimus’ field was fluttering eagerly.  Behind him, Skids chuckled in good humor and nudged his forehelm against Rodimus’ cheek.

“Well, sure, Tailgate….  That sounds like a great idea, I’d love that,” Rodimus said, letting his hands wrap around the little bot’s elbows.

“Cool!  See, that was so easy, you could’ve done that without pulling me onto the bar. You should learn not to overcomplicate things for yourself, Captain.”

Tailgate left Rodimus and Skids dancing on the bar after giving both of them a high grade treat apiece.  As much as it was fun and interesting to use the countertop as a dance floor, Tailgate had other things to do at tonight’s celebration.  First of which involved wiggling through the dense crowd of boisterous partygoers to reattach himself to Cyclonus’ side.  A welcome reprieve after being in the spotlight.

“That wore me out,” Tailgate reported as he pressed close to his lover and relaxed into the arm that went around him.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” Cyclonus asked, voice rumbling low and soothing at the minibot’s energetic neural net.

“No, I did, I just was ready to get down, that’s all.  Will you dance with me later?” Tailgate innocently fiddled with the pouch of treats he was still clutching, making a point to not look up at Cyclonus.  Though it was obvious in the way that the bigger mech’s field trickled out a thread of apprehension that the request wasn’t quite as well-received as the minibot would’ve hoped.

“I only know formal quadrilles from the Tetrahexian gentry.  Something that would go unappreciated on this particular dancefloor.”  Cyclonus lifted his half-drained stein of high grade and took a sip, pulling Tailgate a little tighter to him as he surveyed the crowd.  “If it would please you, I will teach you the steps on some occasion.”

“Sure, that’d be nice,” Tailgate grinned.  He carefully began lining up the little spheres of gelled high-grade along the table in color order.  “As long as I can bring snacks.”

Tailgate smiled when he felt Cyclonus’ chuckle reverberate through his frame.

“Whacha got there, Tailgate?” Drift asked from Cyclonus’ other side, his optics half-hazed in blissed-out inebriation.

“Sweets,” he said, flicking one gently across the table. Drift fumbled with it a little but managed to snatch it up for closer inspection.  “Swerve gave them to me!”

He nudged another one towards Perceptor, who smiled and tucked it away in his subspace for what Tailgate was sure was for lab-examination purposes.  So the minibot offered him another so he could have one to eat and one to dissect.

“How is your flower’s growth progressing?” Perceptor asked after swallowing his small, syrupy mouthful.

“Nightsweet is doing great!” Tailgate said.  “There’s a little teeny green flower that’s starting to form at the end.  It’s still all closed up but I think that if I wait a little longer, it’ll open up soon!”

“That’s awesome,” Drift said, licking a bit of sticky high grade off the pad of his thumb.  “When it blossoms, would you let me know? I’d really like to see it.”

“Sure! I’m keeping him by the window in our habsuite. Taking care of him is super easy because of the thing that Brainstorm built to keep him happy.”  Tailgate paused and peered out into the crowd, leaning over Cyclonus’ quietly cradling grip around him.  “Speaking of which, where is Brainstorm, anyway?  He was hanging out with Skids before he got up on the bar with Rodimus….”

“Oh,” Perceptor sighed, like the groan of an over-capacitated support beam, “Brainstorm is most likely in the middle of that throng, searching for new test subjects who are too intoxicated to not read the fine print.”

Tailgate blinked behind his visor.

“Test subjects for wh—”

“It’s for the best you don’t know,” Perceptor assured him.

Drift took that moment to excuse himself, his optics glinting with overcharge and something predatory as he watched Rodimus - now alone - gyrating on the bartop.  Tailgate wished him good luck.

“And try and turn him _this_ way, I need better shots!” Rewind added as he passed the third-in-command, Chromedome following behind.  “Room for two?”

“Yeah, of course!” Tailgate chirped, shifting around even though Perceptor was the only one who needed to move.  The scientist scooted into Drift’s vacated spot and let Rewind and Chromedome slide in.

“Happy Wellspring,” Chromedome greeted them warmly.

“Happy Wellspring, absolutely!” Rewind agreed.  “And, Tailgate, as this is your first time celebrating, how are you finding the evening?”  The red light of his camera glinted in eager anticipation as Rewind reached across the table towards him.  Tailgate reached back, his little fingers drumming gleefully against Rewind’s palms before he clasped them.

“Honestly, I’m ready for more to happen,” Tailgate said.  “I mean, the drinking and the dancing and the talking is all good fun but like...this is just like any other party.  Where’s the traditional holiday stuff?”

“This is it, mostly!” Rewind said.  “Before the war, Wellspring was celebrated in the streets for megacycles.  There were free-flowing fountains of fuel for all to drink from and shops would often sell their merchandise for hugely discounted prices, if not just hand it out to anyone who asked for free.  Worshippers would scatter crystal flowers at the steps of the temples in offering.  People would visit their friends in different cities or send them gifts if they couldn’t make the trip. It’s all about togetherness.  We celebrate being together here in function as we will one day be together with friends and enemies alike in the Well of Allsparks.”

“Till all are one,” Perceptor murmured, giving a small nod. Anyone who had a glass raised it and took a drink.

“So…,” Tailgate went on, fiddling with his straw, “I guess things couldn’t stay the same after war broke out.”

“We tried to keep up as many traditions as possible,” Chromedome said.  “Most of them just morphed into what’s happening around you now.  If you can’t pour high-grade to flow in the streets, you can gather with your fellow soldiers and take a night to get your mind off the fight.  Even the Decepticons wouldn’t neglect celebrating Wellspring. It’s a universal occasion for Cybertronians.”

“Drink, dance and be merry,” Rewind agreed.  “It’s just how it’s always been.  Though the holiday has lost a lot of the religious connotation it used to bear.  Before the celebration started, you were supposed to take time to abstain and fast and grieve and make whatever wrongs you still bore right again, if you could.  No one really does that anymore.  Fasting during wartime was a dumb thing to do when you were expected to be on the frontlines mowing down ‘Cons with all your might.  Stop to grieve and you might never stop.  So soldiers skipped the penance and just went straight to the orgies.”

Tailgate stilled, his servos going stiff in Rewind’s friendly grip.  It was too loud for anyone to hear his fans click on nervously but Cyclonus glanced down at him as he felt the new hum buzz up against his chassis.

“A-Are you serious?”

“Absolutely!” Rewind said.  He laughed a little and then let Tailgate go, camera winking at him. “What better way to celebrate life than interfacing with all your friends?  Now _that_ tradition definitely didn’t suffer for the wartime.”

“Oh, Primus, is that what this...whole thing is going to turn into?”

“Ultra Magnus has forbidden it,” Cyclonus informed Tailgate cooly. “Within this particular venue or any other common area.”

“But that still leaves anyone’s habsuite open,” Rewind said, wagging a finger knowingly.  “Make no mistake, there will be some very traditional celebrating after the lights go down here, Tailgate.”

The minibot was at a loss for words, his visor shorting out a little as he reset it a little too rapidly.  When he finally did find his vocalizer, he processed the built-up static through it before asking his next question.

“Wait, so...how common is it for people to...um, y’know.  Like, how many of you have done it?  With more than just...just one mech.”

To Tailgate’s surprise, there wasn’t a sudden descent of awkwardness upon the company he kept.  Though he let his own anxious unease slip as easily around him as Cyclonus’ arm about his shoulders.  No, none of them were uncomfortable.  Perceptor was even _smiling_ into his glass.

“Rewind and I have participated in a few group celebrations for Wellspring,” Chromedome said. “In fact, I’m positive that he’s recorded every occasion.  If you’d like, I’m sure he’d show you some of the footage.”

Tailgate made a startled _meep!_ sound and his fans clicked up another notch.  The bots around him just chuckled in good humor.

“I have as well,” Perceptor added.  “Though it was quite a while ago that I engaged in that particular method of celebration.”

Tailgate dared a look up at Cyclonus.  Cyclonus was frowning into the bottom of his tankard like he’d lost something in it.

“Cyclonus?”

“...before the war,” the purple mech admitted.  “Practically every solar cycle.”

Tailgate felt dizzy like his gyroscope had suddenly been filled with the most potent high-grade ever distilled. His processor was tilting over on itself, flooded with unheeded scenario projections of these mechs, his _friends_ , tangled up in the embraces of people Tailgate had never known.  Or maybe people he _did_ know!

Tailgate whipped his helm around to search the crowd without even realizing it. Rodimus and Drift were on the bartop, dancing like their pelvic armor had been soldered together. And just as Tailgate tore his optics away from that particular sight, he realized that Ultra Magnus had finally emerged from his shadowy corner, and was currently on the receiving end of some suggestive come-hither beckoning from Rodimus.  Magnus wasn’t moving a strut.  But his optics were bolt-focused on his captain, irised out fully in a molten display of barely-leashed desire.

Tailgate quickly returned his focus to the table, knotting his fingers together in his lap as he rubbed his knees together.  Seemed to him like the universe was suddenly full of more possibilities than he’d ever considered in his short time of being online to experience it.  It also didn’t help that he apparently had an overclocking imagination.  And really attractive friends.  Damn them….

“I-I don’t know if I’m…,” the fidgety minibot began and then trailed off. “I mean, I wanna celebrate with my friends but….”

“It’s alright,” Perceptor said kindly, smiling at Tailgate. “Communal interfacing might be one of the older Wellspring traditions but it’s by no means a pivotal engagement.  If you do not wish to participate, you need not trouble yourself over it.”

“It’s not like I have a problem with it,” Tailgate protested. “I mean, I only just….”  He tilted his head back to look up at Cyclonus, who was looking back down at him with staunch solemnity that spoke of patience and understanding.  Tailgate sighed, blushing behind his facemask as he tucked his chin and curled in closer to Cyclonus’ side. “N-Nevermind….”

The conversation topic slid on by but Tailgate didn’t miss the clever glimmer in Rewind’s visor.  He chose to ignore it by pushing high-grade treats towards the archivist and his conjunx endura. 

“Any way I can celebrate with everyone without exposing my array? Aheheh….”

“Well, you’re doing a fine job of it on your own, so far,” Chromedome said. “Spending time with your friends however you like. Just keep it up.  The only wrong way to celebrate is to not do anything at all.”

Tailgate let out a vent he didn’t know he’d been keeping captive.  Cyclonus’ hand rubbed reassuringly against his arm and the minibot relaxed, tension easing out of his kinked-up cables in a rush. Good….  It was good to know that Tailgate had been doing right so far.  The only detail sticking out that he was supposed to be spending time with his friends.  Surely he’d already been doing that, but he’d only seen a few of them so far.  There were others Tailgate had yet to even say hello to!

Conviction renewed, Tailgate swiped up the high-grade treats and pushed them back into their pouch—though he left one for each of them behind—and squirmed out from under Cyclonus’ arm.

“Thanks for talking with me, guys. I’m gonna go wander around a little and say hi to everybody.”

“See ya, Tailgate,” Rewind said.  “Thanks for the footage!”

They said goodbye - Cyclonus’ farewell included a kiss to the minibot’s fingertips - and Tailgate skipped off.

Rung got a high-grade treat. Fortress Maximus got two. Brainstorm stole one of the two that Tailgate was coerced into offering to Whirl, which prompted a chase that went out into the hallways and reportedly ended in something Tailgate decided he didn’t have any business hearing about. He avoided giving one to Ultra Magnus, not wanting to break whatever concentration the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord had on um...probably...figuring out how many justifiable reasons he had to put the captain in stasis cuffs right then and there. And while Tailgate was decidedly _not_ thinking about that, he ran headlong into Trailbreaker.

“Oh, Primus, I’m so sorry!”

“Whoa, Tailgate.”

The frantic minibot found his shoulders caught in gentle hands.  But whether they were steadying him for the benefit of his own balance or trying to find some point of stability to cling to, Tailgate wasn’t too sure.  He peered up at Trailbreaker and tilted his helm a little in question.

“You okay?” Tailgate asked.  “I’m so sorry, Trailbreaker, I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was going!  And that’s a pretty dumb decision considering that there are so many people around.”

Trailbreaker stood silent and still for a moment, his lips slightly parted in surprise as he stared down at the little bot as if Tailgate had just sort of dropped out of the ceiling in front of him.  Which, Tailgate supposed, probably wasn’t that far off of a comparison, considering.  The bigger bot had that cloying, sweet scent of high-grade wafting off his armor, steaming warm from his vents.  Tailgate cycled it in and found himself eased by the comfortable scent.  Smelled to him like friends being happy together and enjoying themselves.  Speaking of which.

Tailgate absently fiddled around with the pouch of sweets while he waited for Trailbreaker to come up with words to say.  Facial plates flushed fuchsia from intoxication, Trailbreaker’s smile was sheepish and subdued as he released his hold on Tailgate and backed up a step.

“’s alrigh’, didn’ bother me,” Trailbreaker mumbled and Tailgate stepped after him, turning his audial towards the softly slurred voice in attempt to try and hear him better.  He heard enough through the mashed syllables and loud music to know that Trailbreaker wasn’t upset about the collision.

“Happy Wellspring!” Tailgate said, settling back into a closer space.  Trailbreaker’s visor flashed in surprise, as if he didn’t understand how the minibot had suddenly gotten so close again.  Tailgate missed it, though, favoring his task of pulling out a couple of high-grade treats instead.  He held them out to his acquaintance. “Here, have some of these, they’re delicious!  I’m positive you’ll like them.”

Trailbreaker held out his hand, looking a little lost and Tailgate promptly deposited the treats into his palm.

“Oh…I made these,” Trailbreaker said, rolling them around with the tip of his finger.

Tailgate blinked a couple times.

“I thought Swerve made them,” he said, looking curiously up Trailbreaker.  The other mech gave a gentle smirk and shook his helm. 

“Nope, that was me.  Asked if Swerve would give ‘em out so people could try.” Trailbreaker refocused – attempted, visor cycling through several brightness settings before it finally settled – on Tailgate and very visibly softened his stance, as if the minibot brought him some sort of unforeseen comfort.  “An’ I see he gave ‘em to you to do the job for ‘im.”  Tailgate giggled a little and Trailbreaker chuckled right back.  “You like ‘em too?”

“I do,” Tailgate said.  “They’re sweet and wonderful and I think it would be in everybody’s best interest if you made more.”

Trailbreaker ducked his head a little, smiling at his small, colorful handful.  After a moment, he picked out a bright pink sphere and held it towards Tailgate’s facemask with a blushing grin. Tailgate blinked a little at the treat and then at Trailbreaker’s hopeful smile.

“Do me the honor?” he asked.

Tailgate nodded eagerly.  His mask retracted.  He opened his mouth and accepted the treat in a soft bite, letting it burst in his mouth and giggling as Trailbreaker’s smile practically split his face.  He took the two other treats that Trailbreaker fed to him and enjoyed the rush of heady warmth as the processed high-grade filtered into his tanks.  That woozy-wonderful feeling was settling over him once again.  And he fell right into Trailbreaker’s arms in a sudden-inspired hug.

“Thank you for making these; I love them!”

Trailbreaker was stiff for a split second but then his shoulders eased and he wrapped his arms carefully around the minibot and returned the hug.

“If y’like ‘em so much….  Mean, I could teach ya to make ‘em, if y’want.”

“I want! I very want!”  Tailgate jumped up and down a little bit in the middle of that embrace and then bounced backwards, flashing an enthusiastic and unhidden smile up at Trailbreaker.  “Yes please!”

The smile faded off of Trailbreaker’s lips in a slow dissolve.  He stared deep into that pretty blue visor, his own shielded optics flicking down to that tiny little mouth smiling so cutely up at him as his hands still lingered midair to clutch the little bot to himself.  Trailbreaker cycled a slow, hard vent and his tongue slid nervously across the inside of his lips.

“Tailgate! Happy Wellspring!”

Getaway swooped down and pressed a loud, overdramatic kiss right to Tailgate’s exposed cheek, his own mask retracted just for the task.  Tailgate squealed –  caught off guard and then obviously delighted – and threw himself into Getaway’s arms for a hug.

“Happy Wellspring to you too! Where have you been? You missed Skids dancing on the bartop with me and Rodimus!”

“Are you fraggin’ kidding me! That’s what I get for wanting to be fashionably late!”

Tailgate chattered excitedly at Getaway, filling him on all the details that he had missed.  At one point, he glanced back to see if Trailbreaker was still around, having arrived at the part of his story about receiving the bag of high-grade treats. The forcefield specialist had somehow managed to abscond, though.  Tailgate stopped in the middle of his explanation.  Getaway followed the minibot’s line of sight, searching.

“Trailbreaker left?” he asked, understanding who Tailgate was looking for.

“Guess so,” Tailgate said, a little disappointed.  “Hopefully he doesn’t forget about teaching me about making these sweets because I’m definitely not going to.  Oh, here, have some!”

Getaway was supplied with a couple treats and then Tailgate promptly sent him on his way to go find Skids with the assurance that, nope, he had no idea where the party-animal theoretician had gotten off to after the whole bartop dancing thing.

The bass of the song deepened and Tailgate, who was right at the edge of the dance floor, let himself melt into the crowd of shimmying and gyrating bodies.  It was kinda nice to just shutter his optics, let the music fill up his circuits and guide his body.  It moved him.  His processor felt light and wonderful.  Purely a product of all the treats and drinks that he’d been indulging in.  But, Primus, it was so nice!  The music surged into the chorus; Tailgate put his arms up and forgot about the world around him.

One song, then two, and then four had gone by and Tailgate was just giggling and dancing all the while.  Condensation formed in little droplets at the lower curve of his face mask, dripping down the cables of his neck.  The euphoric haze of the high-grade still buoyed the minibot as he danced about and played with whomever was near. Everyone was friendly, laughing and singing along with the lyrics that they recognized.  Tailgate was twirled about by friends and strangers alike, reveling in the thrum of a crowd who felt nothing that night but joy and pleasure.  Dozens of energy fields harmonizing in an ebb and flow of synchronicity.  Even if Tailgate wasn’t already pleasantly overcharged, he felt he could thrive off the thrills that everyone was passing to one another.  He could practically taste it in his vents.

It didn’t even startle Tailgate when arms wrapped around him from behind.  He smiled even harder and made it a point to lean back against whoever had approached him.  His helm tilted and Tailgate found himself nose-to-nose with Pipes.

“Heeeey!” he exclaimed, hands reaching up to clutch Pipes' faceplates and he nuzzled up and made an enthusiastic kissing noise.  Pipes was giggling.  “There you are, you sneaky! Get lost on the way?”

“Well, everybody is only here because some people volunteered for surveillance shifts,” Pipes said, his arms tightening a little around Tailgate’s middle.  “Someone’s gotta make sure we’re not going to get randomly blown up by a surprise attack, right?”

“Who’s gonna ‘tack us?” Tailgate pouted.  “No one. But you’re here now!  You had anything to drink yet? No, y’haven’t, you need high-grade; you’re not overcharged at all.”

Tailgate blinked in a bit of confusion as he was reeled back from his attempt to sashay off to the bar to the beat of the music.

“No, no, I’m covered.  Come with me, I’ll share!” Pipes said, tugging the minibot off the dance floor.

“Okay!”

The celebration spread quite a ways beyond just Swerve’s.  Crew members milled about in the hallways and played music of their own in nearby rooms.  Pipes towed Tailgate all the way past these small gatherings, back to where only the deepest throbs of the bass still reverbed through the _Lost Light’s_ halls.  Tailgate tuned his audials towards an alcove they passed in a hurry.  He didn’t think that moan was imagined….

“Here, in here,” Pipes whispered with a soft laugh as he nudged Tailgate towards the door he’d just keyed open.

“What are we doing?” Tailgate asked him as he staggered inside.

“Getting away from all that noise.”

“Aw, but I liked the noise.  You don’t like it?”  Tailgate glanced around the little room and plopped down onto one of the loungers near the window, starlight filtering over his face as he peered at his friend.

Pipes let the door slide shut behind him and gave a little shrug.

“I mean, I like the Wellspring festivities as much as any other mech but….  I dunno, I’d rather just spend it with my close friends instead of every single person on the whole ship, you know?  Some of them are a little too party-hardy.”  Pipes still chuckled good-naturedly.

“Close friends, sure, but I’m the only one you pulled out here,” Tailgate pointed out as the bigger mech took a seat next to him.

Pipes shrugged again, tapping the tips of his pedes on the floor.

“You’re the only one who I’d call my close friend.”

“But what about Blaster?  Or Rewind?  Drift was there, did you see him? Oh, well, he and Rodimus and Magnus might’ve…um….  Well, Ratchet—”

“I like them all,” Pipes assured Tailgate.  “And maybe one day we’ll be even better friends.  For right now, though, you’re the best friend I have and I wanted to make sure I celebrated with you before diving back into that whole deal back there.”

Tailgate’s visor glittered happily at Pipes’.  And Pipes just laughed again, happy.

“A party just you and me sounds nice!” Tailgate said to him.  “Plus I think I got a little too caught up in dancing.  Oh, oops, I didn’t tell Cyclonus where I was going.”

“Yeah, might wanna do that,” Pipes said, rooting around in his subspace.  “Last thing I need is your vengeful botfriend coming after me with murder in his optics.”

“Cyclonus wouldn’t do that,” Tailgate giggled as he sent a ping to said mech letting him know where he’d wandered off too.  He got a confirming reply along with a request that Tailgate let Cyclonus know if he planned on returning to their habsuite afterward.  Which gave Tailgate pause.  “Huh.”

“Huh, what?” Pipes asked, pushing a ‘grade box into Tailgate’s hands, straw already inserted.

“Why would Cyclonus ask me if I was gonna go back to the room or not?”

Pipes brought his own little box up to his facemask and retracted it back to wrap his lips around the straw and sip a little as he thought about it.

“Did you make plans to join anyone later?” he asked Tailgate.  “Did Cyclonus?”

“For what, like an afterparty?”

“Yeah, you know, _afterparties_.” Pipes tilted his ‘grade box at Tailgate meaningfully.

“Oh! Oh, oh, no! No, we didn’t make any plans like that, no.”

“Well at least I know I didn’t steal you away from some lucky mech looking to land you in their tangle.” Pipes laughed.

“Pipes!”

“Just teasing you, buddy.”  Pipes smiled around his straw, leaning over to bump Tailgate’s shoulder softly.

Tailgate frowned a bit but let his mask pull back so he could sip at the little box he’d been given.  The contents were a triple-filtered ration-grade that was so smooth, it was like froth on Tailgate’s tongue.  He hummed happily, distracted from discordant thoughts as he swallowed soft mouthfuls.

“This is really yummy,” Tailgate commented, sinking against Pipes' side to get comfortable as they sat there, sipping.  “Where’d you get it from?”

“I brought some boxes with me before we launched.  I guess I just ended up saving them but now I think it’s a good time to get them out.”

“It’s not high-grade.”

“Nope! Getting overcharged tends to make me feel sick so I have other options.  Still good, huh?”

“It’s _so_ good.  Guess you wouldn’t be interested in some high-grade sweets then, huh? I’ve been giving them out to everyone.”

“Save the rest for yourself,” Pipes suggested, smiling.  “If you like them, you should keep them.”

“That’d be a little greedy, I think,” Tailgate chuckled.

Maybe he was mistaken, but Tailgate could swear that the rhythm that was reaching down the hallways was familiar.  He leaned there against Pipes, slurping at his little straw and started humming the melody to the song that played from far away.

“Tell me about how you’ve been celebrating so far,” Pipes said after a moment.  “Like I said, I missed the first cycle.”

“Oh, well,” Tailgate settled in to retell the tale, wiggling his shoulders against his friend’s side to make himself comfortable.  Pipes wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close.  “Came here with Cyclonus.  First I saw Swerve who gave me some really yummy high-grade that I definitely will be asking for again.  And then he gave me the treats, which I found out later that Trailbreaker made.  He’s gonna teach me how to make them!  And then I danced on the bar with the Captain and Skids.”

“You danced on the bar?”

“Yeah! It was fun! Weird and really embarrassing but I think I’d do it again.”

Pipes laughed as he pictured it, taking Tailgate’s box when he’d emptied it and putting it aside. 

“What else?”

“Mmh, well, after that, I went and sat with Cyclonus and talked with him and Perceptor and Rewind and Chromedome.  And they told me about the history of Wellspring.  And about the whole….  The afterparty stuff.”

“It’s traditional, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what they told me.” Tailgate just sighed and gave a little resigned laugh.  “I’m guessing you’ve been in one of those parties yourself?”

“Few times, sure,” Pipes said, nodding. “But it was always one of those, ‘we’re all in the same room so we all might as well’ sort of things.  Was never actually specifically invited to one but, hey, the ones I been to were pretty fraggin’ great!”

Tailgate was quiet for a moment, thinking about this topic that lingered on his processor.

“They told me I shouldn’t feel obligated to go celebrate that way,” he said.

“And you shouldn’t,” Pipes agreed.  “No one has to.  Just because it’s traditional doesn’t mean it’s a requirement.”

“But—!  But, I mean….”  Tailgate gave a little grunt of frustration.  “It’s the first time I’ve ever really considered the _idea_ of interfacing with more than one mech and….  Like, I’m not repulsed by the idea at all; it sounds kind of…exciting and awesome, even!  But, y’know, Cyclonus and I have only been together for a little while now and I’ve only just figured out how to even interface _at all!_ Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” Pipes assured him as Tailgate tilted his head back to peer up at him.  Not laughing, but Pipes was smiling.  It was kind of nice, being confided in like this.  Especially about something so personal.  Pipes gave his friend an encouraging squeeze.  “That wasn’t the end of that little rant; go on.”

Tailgate huffed a little bit.  Then he resettled and launched back into it.

“So, like, sure! Shock and awe me about the casual group ‘facing, whatever. Entice me with it even! But I just feel like I’m….  Like, where’s the transition from your very first ‘facing to just jumping right into a pool full of hot mechs, huh?”

Pipes snorted.  He couldn’t help it.

“Well, you can take it slow, you know,” he said to try and stall Tailgate getting onto him about laughing.  “You don’t have to jump into the hot-mech pool just yet.  Like you, said, you only just started with Cyclonus.  And he’s the first mech you’ve ever been with, right?”

Tailgate sighed.

“Right.”

“Right, so, next step is inviting someone you trust to be with the two of you.  Something you guys should talk about.  You should tell him all of this you’re telling me too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know….”

“And then you work up as you feel comfortable.”  Pipes leaned down to nudge his helm against Tailgate’s affectionately.  “You can stop with just one more. Or you can go on to a dozen more.  Or you can decide to just stick with Cyclonus and Cyclonus forever.  It’s whatever you want, Tailgate! Just do what makes you happy. Do what feels right.”

Pipes fell silent, sipping on his ‘grade box while Tailgate took the moment to process the new information.  The ship hummed softly all around them in its persistent lullaby, the tone familiar and comfortable background noise to the echoes of the party down the hallway and the easy thumping Tailgate’s fuel pump answering the beat of Pipes’ pressed close against him.  After a while, Pipes put his empty box down and rubbed Tailgate’s arm a little, making the minibot look up at him once more.

 “Total subject change, but I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re here,” Pipes said gently.  “I know it was probably dark and scary and lonely being lost underground for so long, but I am really happy you’re here now.  I’m happy you’re my friend. ”

Tailgate climbed right into Pipes’ lap to wrap him up in the biggest hug a minibot could give.  Pipes held tight to him and they rocked just a little, back and forth.  It was really nice, Tailgate thought, really warm…being enfolded in gentle arms and kept close against the comforting firmness of chestplates, the whirr of a kind spark fluttering nearby. 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Tailgate murmured, pressing their cheeks together.  “Thank you for those things you said. I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m happy. I feel wonderful.  You hug real nice.”

Pipes laughed, squeezing Tailgate a little closer.

“So do you.”

Tailgate giggled and nuzzled his face against Pipes’ neck as they cuddled there together.  Tailgate let his optics shutter, visor fading to a deeper blue as he relaxed in Pipes’ hold.  It was nice.  Being cradled so completely.  Tailgate had always liked it when Cyclonus held him like this. He let out an errant giggle at the thought.

“I think I’m getting sleepy,” he confessed.  “Too much dancing, too much high-grade.”

“Can’t stay awake for any more celebrating?” Pipes’ voice rumbled gently right through Tailgate’s chest, and Tailgate purred his engine in response.

“Does snuggling until we fall into recharge count as celebrating?” Tailgate asked, pulling back a little to smoosh his face against Pipes’ cheek.  The warrior bot laughed and stroked the back of his friend’s helm.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.  Best Wellspring I’ll have ever had.”  Pipes held with gentle firmness to his tinier friend and supported his weight as he leaned back to rest on the couch.  Tailgate hugged himself tight to Pipes and let his whole frame relax once they were horizontal.  His friend wouldn’t let him fall.

“We should play together tomorrow,” Tailgate said, pushing himself up a little bit to look down at Pipes.

“I was thinking about going to help Swerve clean up tomorrow,” Pipes said.  “I mean, I figured no one else was going to bother.  He has to pick up all that slag on his own, you know.”

“Mmh.  Let’s help him.”

“And play after?”

“Play all day!” Tailate whispered excitedly.  Pipes grinned and didn’t even bother resisting the urge to tickle the minibot. Tailgate let out a surprised squeak. “No, no, no! No, Pipes, stop!” he squealed out between bouts how hard, squirming laughter.

“Oh Primus, you are so cute,” Pipes said almost conversationally as he continued to smile and attack Tailgate with ruthlessly teasing tickles between the minibot’s plating.  The minibot sat up trying to push himself away from Pipes’ torturous tickling but that only made Pipes sit up as well to chase after him.  Tailgate’s vents had clicked on after his sensor net overclocked from the overstimulation and he pushed rather helplessly at his friend’s chest to try and get him to relent.  Nothing would stop Pipes.  It was only when he’d leaned in close enough to give Tailgate a soft little peck on his widely smiling lips that he finally let Tailgate relax.  And even then, the minibot gasped, optics flashed open and he took a moment to cycle his vents a couple times.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting away with that!” Tailgate exclaimed breathlessly.  He pounced on a laughing Pipes and pinned him down by the shoulders.  “Sneaky kisser! Unfair!”  Tailgate bent and mashed his lips against Pipes’ and then blew a vicious razzberry right against them.  Pipes burst into laughter, full-bodied and muffled right into Tailgate’s mouth because he was still making silly noises against Pipes’ giggles.  It was only incidental that his tongue happened to brush against Tailgate’s bottom lip.

Pipes was surprised at just how soft the touch was.  The lingering sweetness of high-grade stained against the crease of puckered lips and the taste blazed over Pipes’ tongue like a static zap.  He gasped. Tailgate pulled back and giggled, loopy, down at his friend.

“I felt thaaaaaat,” the minibot accused in a quiet tease.

“Ahaha…. S-sorry, didn’t mean to,” Pipes said, cheeks going viciously warm with an influx of processed energon. His visor brightened a little with the realization that Tailgate’s soft white cheeks were also gaining a heady glow of pink. 

Tailgate looked down at Pipes and tilted his helm a little, surveying the sight before him.  Pipes laid there with his hands still up beside his shoulders, smiling nervously beneath softly blushing cheeks.  His warrior friend forced out an airy giggle and then licked his bottom lip too quickly to be a deliberate attempt at flirting.

_Cyclonus?_  Tailgate asked through his commlink, shifting his hips a little where they rested against Pipes’ pelvic span.

_Would you be upset if I made out with Pipes a little?_

Tailgate let his field flare out with its excitedly curious warmth and could see the moment it washed over Pipes.  His friend’s venting hitched, fans clicking on quietly.  Tailgate moved his hands down to tangle his fingers with Pipes’.

“Tailgate?”

_Give yourself to whomever your wish, however you wish. I merely request that you keep yourself safe. Return to me when you are ready._

Tailgate’s lips spread in a sweetly devious grin, his spark whirring excitedly in his chest.

_Be back before you know it! Love you!_

“Wanna kiss some more?”

Pipes’ chest visibly hitched at the question.

_I love you as well._

“Yeah,” he whispered, grip tightening around the tiny fingers in his hands.  “Yeah, I want that very much.”


End file.
